Love Soldiers, Volume 1: Unlocking Emotions
by Zetan
Summary: Not your average Warhammer fanfiction, this is re-write of my classic tale of romance, fantasy, and adventure. Unfortunately, I never finished this re-write and have no plans to.
1. Part 1

Xeron gazed out his castle window. It seemed he was going to have some company. A Wood Elf Sorceress was blasting and cleaving her way through his minions. She was likely just trying to make a name for herself. It was pitiful, really.  
  
Xeron was a well-known Necromancer in these parts. There were reasons for this. He had nearly mastered the art of Necromancy, and now he had quite a large army at his disposal. Given the chance, there wasn't a single good-hearted soul who wouldn't want to kill him. This Sorceress was obviously no exception. The undead he controlled had killed thousands of men, women and children. Adding one more to the stack wasn't going to make a big difference.  
  
She was surprisingly good. She had already killed off at least a third of the zombie hoard that guarded the outside doors. She certainly wouldn't make it inside, of course, and wouldn't survive long if she did. Between her and Xeron were some of the most hideously evil creatures he'd ever created. Xeron, however, decided not to take any chances.  
  
Waving his staff and muttering a few incantations, Xeron sent down a Summon Undead Horde spell. The bones around the area of the spell began to shake, rising into the air to connect. Within a matter of seconds, fifteen freshly created skeletons had joined the fray. Xeron smiled, casting another spell. Raise the Dead created more black energy, surrounding some of the fallen zombies that had already been slain. They would face her once again, fighting just as ferociously as the first time.  
  
Another blast from the Sorceress, however, sent the zombies right back down. Was that a Fiery Convocation spell? Now a tinge of doubt struck Xeron for the first time. Fiery Convocation was a High Magic spell. Only the greatest of Wood Elves used High Magic. As he watched, she cast another spell, crumbling half of his newly created skeletons. That was definitely Banishment, definitely High Magic. It was time to stop playing games.  
  
Xeron gave the signal, sending twenty Carrion down to her. Ferocious beasts, these giant zombie-like birds could easily destroy and army of one hundred well-trained men. Surely they were enough to kill one Sorceress, however powerful she was.  
  
Before the birds could reach her, however, the Sorceress sheathed her sword, thrusting her arms into the air. The wind about her started to pick up, blowing her long golden hair wildly. Small bolts of electricity started jumping about inside the vortex she was creating. The Tempest, another spell he recognized almost immediately. Some of his Carrion fell prey to the bolts of electricity. Others were thrown into each other by the chaotic winds. The difficult flying weakened the few who made it down to her; she made quick work of them with her sword.  
  
Now she was at the door, kicking it down. She was fairly strong, in addition to being so powerful. It was amazing, really. No one had ever made it this far. Sure, Xeron had seen his share of aggressive invaders in the past. None of them had displayed this level of skill, this sheer determination to end his life. Fear was now creeping in on him, slowly but surly. What if he had finally met his match? What if this was the one who managed to destroy him? Although many necromancers looked at death as simply a new beginning, Xeron feared it. He'd seen it so many times, and he didn't want it for himself.  
  
Yet Xeron could hear the battle going on beneath him, and it didn't sound very good. He was waiting, hoping to hear the Sorceress scream. Her death-scream would end it all. No more fear, no more anticipation. Xeron smiled, thinking of this. That's what would happen. He would hear her scream. He would descend the stairs, discovering what floor she'd been killed on. Then, he could use her. Perhaps, when raised, her magically infused body would become that of a Wraith. He already had a few of these ghostly creatures under his command. In fact, she was probably fighting them now. She was more powerful then any one of them, but working together, they would be sure to kill her. Then, she would become one of them, and Xeron's most powerful one yet. This was the fate of those who opposed him. This is what necromancers did.  
  
Even if she made it past them, his last line of defense was a group of twenty Wights. They were true elites among the undead, looking like skeletons but proving to be much greater. They were the fallen heroes of the past, magical items and armor used again for a new purpose. In this case, that purpose was to fight off invaders and keep their master alive. There was no way this Sorceress could take on all twenty of them, and there was no way they would let her enter without being completely destroyed. Xeron was safe.  
  
These comforting thoughts were all too suddenly shattered as his door received a similar treatment. Splinters off wood flew off in random directions as the last defeated Wight was blasted through the poorly built door. Xeron almost yelped with surprise, watching the smoldering remains of his greatest champion slump down into a corner. He didn't have long to look at this, however. If he didn't act quickly, he would be next.  
  
Quickly muttering the incantations he knew all too well, Xeron opted for a quick escape route. If he could manage to cast The Dark Mist, it would remove him slightly from this reality. Once he had attained this ghost-like form, no physical attacks would be able to harm him. His speed would be greatly improved, and he could even pass through walls. All of this barely passed through his mind. What he needed was escape, and this was the spell a Necromancer used when he needed to escape.  
  
"Oh no, you don't," said the Sorceress, recognizing the spell even before he finished casting it. She began casting her own spell. Her speed was amazing! Just as Xeron had started to feel himself breaking free of the restraints of his physical body, he felt them lock back on, his magic seeping away. He should have predicted this. No Sorceress with High Magic went into battle with another magic user without first preparing a Drain Magic spell. Xeron should have thought of this, but he hadn't. Now he was running out of options.  
  
A magical duel was out of the question, at this point. Xeron knew this, even as the Sorceress began to ready her next spell. She was taking her time with this one, and this was his chance. He could not best her in magic; she had proved to be far beyond his ability. She had not, however, completely proved herself in hand-to-hand combat. Perhaps if he could force her into this sort of battle, he might have a chance. It was certainly better then he had now.  
  
Acting quickly, Xeron grabbed for the rusty old scimitar he kept on the wall. It had certainly seen better days, but it would serve its purpose. The Sorceress saw this, his action being obvious, and took the only appropriate re-action. Ending her spell quickly, she drew her own sword. It looked very thin and obviously had some magical properties. Perhaps it was simply the reason for her strength, seeming a bit un-natural for her size and build.  
  
All of this raced through Xeron's head as he rushed at her. He'd trained himself to always try and size up and opponent before engaging in battle. He didn't have time for much, but any little piece of information he could discover about her could be instrumental in her defeat.  
  
Their swords clashed. The Sorceress had been ready, but still took a step backwards at the force of the attack. As Xeron had thought, she didn't have enough natural strength to hold up to a direct blow like that. Enchanted swords were generally adapted to aid in attack strength, and this was no exception. Perhaps he had a chance, now. He had discovered a weakness in what had before seemed like an invincible foe.  
  
The Sorceress recovered fairly quickly. She attacked, the sword aiding her once more. Xeron had practiced swordplay, and blocked blow after blow with surprising skill. He knew how to stand in order to receive an attack of tremendous strength and not need to return that amount of strength in order to hold his ground. This was it. He was winning.  
  
Xeron caught one of her blows just right, twisting his own blade to the right. The maneuver worked, the metal caught, and the blade was twisted from the Sorceress' small hand, sliding across the floor to the other side of the room. Xeron ran forward, knocking her onto the ground with his forearm. His sword came swiftly downward to her neck, about to end it all in one quick swipe. But suddenly, with his blade mere centimeters from her light skin, he stopped. 


	2. Part 2

Linalia's eyes were clenched closed. She was sure this had been her last mistake. Thinking back, she had really been careless. At first, she'd been surprised that her power had overwhelmed Xeron's so easily. She had trained very hard, and was very powerful. Still, she had expected more from him. Unfortunately, this had made her careless. And while she had over-estimated his power, she had under-estimated his skill with a sword. Now she would pay for this mistake with her life.  
  
Yet, the end didn't come. Linalia opened one eye, then the other. Xeron simply stared at her. His blue eyes showed a clouded mix of emotions. It was difficult for Linalia to tell what, exactly he was thinking. Only one thing was for sure. For one reason or another, he did not want to take her life.  
  
Their eyes simply stayed locked. It was probably only a half-minute or so, but to Linalia, it seemed like an eternity. She was still overcome by the fear of having death so close. But, at the same time, she knew this couldn't go on forever. Finally, she gathered her courage, opening her mouth.  
  
"What . . . are you waiting for?"  
  
Xeron hesitated. "I . . ." His voice trailed off. "It's . . . nothing. I just might find you more useful . . . alive."  
  
Linalia stared up at him. "What use would a Necromancer have with anyone alive?"  
  
Xeron seemed to be thinking. There was obviously another reason for his hesitation.  
  
"Why should I tell you?" he finally snapped.  
  
Linalia sensed something about him . . . fear, was it? She looked up at him as if for the first time. Was this truly the Necromancer she had come to kill? Xeron was rumored to be one of the most deeply evil humans in existence. Was this truly the same man the rumors had spoken of? He seemed to be trembling slightly, his face completely unsure of himself. Perhaps the rumors had been exaggerations. Most rumors did turn out to be that way.  
  
An awkward silence ensued for a few moments. Finally, Xeron sighed, tossing his sword aside. He walked over to his bed. It looked more like a pile of rags then a bed, but it was the closest thing to a bed that Linalia could see in the room. Sitting down on it, Xeron put his elbows on his knees, resting his head between his hands. Linalia looked about, very confused. What could she do at this point? She couldn't just leave. She had been sent to end this evil. Yet, she couldn't kill him. Not like this. With few other options, Linalia just walked over and carefully sat next to him.  
  
Xeron looked over at her, seeming confused. "What do you want? If you want me dead, kill me. If not, just leave."  
  
Linalia shook her head. "I don't want to kill you. You already spared my life. It's only fair that I return the favor."  
  
"Then why are you still here?"  
  
Linalia thought for a moment. "Curiosity, I guess," was all she could come up with.  
  
"Oh, I get it," said Xeron. "A Necromancer who won't kill . . . and you want to know why. It's pretty simply. I'm a failure. Why don't you just put me out of my misery?"  
  
Linalia shook her head stubbornly. "You're not a failure at all! Most Necromancers are failures . . . failures as people. But you . . . you still have a heart. That's why I'm sparing you." She moved closer, her arm sliding around his shoulders.  
  
Xeron pulled away from this show of affection, siding over to the other side of the pathetic excuse for a bed they were sharing. "Go away. If you're not going to kill me, just go away."  
  
Linalia was becoming more and more persistent. "I can't just leave you alone like this. You'll probably do something stupid like killing yourself. Now that I've seen your heart, I'm not going to let it go to waste."  
  
"What would be the problem with that? Isn't that why you came here?"  
  
"I came here to extinguish a great evil. That doesn't necessarily mean killing. I think I've done a better job then even I could have hoped for. And now, you've got to finish the job. But I can help . . ."  
  
Xeron curled up in a ball, facing toward the wall. "You're crazy! I don't want any help. I've never had help in the past, there's no reason I should have it now."  
  
This comment stirred something in Linalia. She'd been taught how necromancers usually get their start. They are often ignored or abused as children, living through hell and seeing only one way out. That's why they turn to the dark arts. Not because they're evil, but because they don't see any other way. Xeron had probably never felt any kind of human affection in his life. All this was very new to him.  
  
"I'm staying with you. No matter how long it takes. You can't talk me out of it, so don't bother trying. And if you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you had the chance."  
  
Xeron seemed to be ignoring her, still facing the wall, his expression not visible. It was starting to get late. Linalia sighed, removing her cloak and laying it out on the floor. She'd slept on far worse, so this would have to do, for tonight. Perhaps a good night's sleep would wash things away, make his thoughts clearer. It would be a start, anyway.  
  
Normally, of course, Linalia would have had second thoughts about sleeping in a Necromancer's castle. Somehow, though, she felt perfectly safe. 


	3. Part 3

Xeron's eyes opened. It was like any other morning, at first. He remembered nothing of the night before, and likely wouldn't have for several hours, had he been alone.  
  
However, he wasn't alone, as he quickly discovered. Stepping out of bed, he narrowly missed stepping on the elf resting on the floor near his bed. The memories all flooded back at once. His entire existence was in question once again. It certainly wasn't the way he wanted to start the morning.  
  
He glanced about the room, seeing his sword. Just to toy with the idea, he picked it up, holding it to her throat once more. He saw her recoil slightly, her expression showing slight fear. It was as if she sensed the possible danger, even in her sleep. Xeron frowned at this. He tossed the sword aside once more. If he couldn't take her life before, how was he supposed to do it now? She looked so innocent, resting there, so beautiful  
  
Why exactly couldn't he kill her? Necromancers were supposed to be heartless and cruel. They were supposed to hate innocence. They were supposed to destroy beauty. They were supposed to be evil. Xeron was evil, wasn't he? This didn't make any sense. He had killed many in the past. What had made this one different?  
  
An even better question: Why was she still here? Any sane elf would have killed him and left, or at least just left. Yet she had spent the night in this castle. Xeron found himself taking a bit of pity on her. It must have been hard for a wood elf, sleeping in a stone tower. It was so high, so far from the Earth.  
  
Xeron knew all this from information he'd discovered about Wood Elves. But why did he care? What did it matter whether she was uncomfortable or not?  
  
Xeron didn't know the answers to any of these questions. It had been so long since he'd had any of these feelings that he had almost forgotten them. Frustrated, he got back into his bed, hoping sleep would take him again. Perhaps, he thought, if he just curled up and went back to sleep, it would all turn out to be one big nightmare.  
  
The next thing he remembered, however, was exactly the opposite of this wish. His eyes opened, finding two little green ones staring back at him, only a foot or two away. The sorceress had awoken, and was sitting next to him, hovering over him. She had been waiting like that, who knew how long, for him to awaken.  
  
Xeron drew away quickly. The elf seemed to be suppressing a giggle.  
  
"What is wrong with you?" asked Xeron with alarm.  
  
"I'm sorry," replied the elf. "I guess we got a bad start."  
  
"A 'bad start'? Tell me, how many 'good starts' do you have with necromancers? Is this a regular thing for you?"  
  
The elf shook her head. "Look . . . this is as strange for me as it is for you. I normally just go and kill evil. But I saw something else in you. I just want to help you."  
  
"I don't want your help, okay? I don't know what's going on, but I'm pretty sure it'll just go away if you do the same. So please do . . . just leave so things can go back to the way they were."  
  
"I'm sorry . . . I can't do that. There's something about you, and I'm not going to leave until I figure out exactly what it is. The only way to prove me wrong is to kill me, and I think you would have done that a long time ago, if you were going to. So are you going to listen to me or just sit there and be all stubborn?"  
  
Xeron sighed deeply, turning away from her. "Stick around all you want, then."  
  
He heard the elf sigh with frustration. After a long silence, she spoke again.  
  
"I'm sorry. Like I said . . . I didn't make the best first impression. The reasons are obvious. But I'd like to change that. Start over, if I could. I feel like there are two different people here. There's the Xeron I came here to kill, and the Xeron I found here. One is heartless; the other seems to have a heart. The first one doesn't really exist, but I thought he did, which is why I came in as I did. Now, I just want to start over. I want to start over, the way I would have if I'd known the second one existed. Please . . . just give me a chance? It will make it a lot easier on both of us." She smiled a little, adding, "And you're not getting rid of me until you do."  
  
Xeron paused. Finally, slowly he turned around.  
  
"Fine," he said. "Fine. You don't leave me with much of a choice."  
  
The elf smiled a little. She seemed proud of her stubborn persistence.  
  
"Well, if we're starting over, I guess a proper introduction is in order. I'm Linalia."  
  
Xeron muttered a bit. What had he gotten himself into? 


	4. Part 4

The rest of the morning went pretty slowly for Linalia. She had made some progress with Xeron. He was at least to the point of accepting that she was there and wasn't leaving anytime soon. Getting any farther, however, was proving to be challenging. After some more talking and a small argument, Xeron was curled up, facing the wall again. Frustrated, Linalia realized that part of her problem was hunger. With a meal in her stomach, she might be able to think more clearly. Leaving the room, she headed downstairs in search of the kitchen. After all, she thought, even Necromancers need to eat . . .  
  
Returning some time later, Linalia discovered that Xeron's position hadn't changed much. He was still facing the wall, not moving as she entered. The sight reminded Linalia of a little child. Now, with food in her belly, she was sure she would be able to figure out just who Xeron really was.  
  
"You can't just lay in bed all day, you know," she started. Not the best start, but she hoped it could at least coax him to respond. It didn't.  
  
"Are you even going to talk to me? Because I'm not going to leave you alone until you do," she persisted, using the only weapon she seemed to have against him, at this point; annoyance.  
  
Xeron sighed slightly, still facing the wall. "Fine. If it will make you go away, I will talk."  
  
Linalia stopped for a moment, gathering her thoughts. This was the key point in the conversation . . . she had achieved the edge, had his ear and his willing response. She had to choose her words carefully, as not to throw him back into silence. She sat down on the bed, deciding that getting as physically close to him as possible might aid her in her desire to get mentally close to him as well.  
  
"Well, I've been wondering," she started. "How exactly did you become a necromancer, anyway?"  
  
There was a long silence. Had this been the wrong thing to ask? It was probably a sensitive subject . . . Would he willingly speak of it?  
  
"I guess," he said, when at last he did speak, "it started when I was very young. Probably about thirteen."  
  
Linalia nodded. She felt proud of herself for making it this far . . . for opening this door. She was sure that understanding his childhood was the key to understanding him.  
  
"I didn't have many friends," he continued, his voice an emotionless monotone. "Most of the other children ignored me. I hated them . . . but I hated the ones who didn't ignore me even more. They taunted me endlessly. I wasn't very athletic at the time . . . and that's all they seemed to judge people based on; strength, endurance, and athletic ability. So while I focused on my studies, they beat me up between classes."  
  
Linalia felt a bit of a cold chill. She thought back to her own childhood, where she had witnessed similar behavior. Although she imagined it was more severe among the humans than it was among the elves, she had seen athletic elven boys picking on those who could not hold their own. It was a behavior she had never understood.  
  
"Why?" she persisted. "Why did they hurt you?"  
  
Xeron paused, then continued in his cold, emotionless voice. "It was because I did better than them in class. I was smarter than all of them, and always did wonderful on tests. They envied me, perhaps. Naturally, threatened with more beatings, more severe each time, I tried doing badly on purpose. As soon as I did, however, I was beaten at home, instead."  
  
Linalia bit her lip. This was exactly what she had expected, from what she knew of Necromancers, but still, it was sad to hear such a real and specific example. No love among peers, no love at home . . . how could a child be expected to deal with that?  
  
"There seemed no place to turn," Xeron continued, still barring all emotion from his voice. "If I did well, I was beaten at school. If I did badly, I was beaten at home. Those seemed my only options, and neither of them was good. That was the way it seemed, at least, until I discovered the third option."  
  
Linalia knew this part . . . it was obvious what third option he had discovered. She let him continue, anyway.  
  
"I found the books that everyone said not to read. Said the words they said not to say. I went to a graveyard . . . I made my first zombie. From that day forward, nobody ever beat on me again."  
  
Linalia was on the verge of tears. This man . . . this supposedly evil man who she had come to hunt . . . this man was not evil at all. He did not hate simply for the sake of hating . . . he had reasons. Although, like anyone else, Linalia hoped she would have made a better choice, if put in the same situation . . . but she could not say for certain that she would have.  
  
She looked over at Xeron. He was still stone-faced. Was he sad? Was he angry? There was no way to tell how any of this was affecting him. She supposed he had spent years suppressing these emotions, and unlocking them now was not going to be a small task. She'd be damned, however, before she gave up without trying.  
  
"How," she asked," do you feel about all this now?"  
  
Xeron finally turned to her, for the first time since that morning. His features were like an ivory wall . . . cold and hard, keeping everything inside. Only his eyes betrayed him. Deep within those amazing blue eyes, Linalia saw his sadness. Perhaps he wasn't even aware of it himself, but she saw it.  
  
Linalia caught herself staring. His soft-looking black hair, his pale, but attractive face . . . none of it would have meant anything to her, if it weren't for his eyes. Because of those eyes, however, she had seen beauty in him . . . and now she could see that beauty in all of his features.  
  
In the end, though, it was Xeron who broke the stare. He collapsed; his strength gone. Linalia caught him, then smiled slightly as she held his face to her, gently, like a mother holding a child. She had broken though his barriers and found her way into his heart . . . of this, she was proud. Now that heart needed healing. She wondered if she was really up to the task. Well, she had come this far. There was no turning back now. 


	5. Part 5

Xeron's feelings were about as confused as they had ever been. It was only a day ago that he had considering himself as cruel and heartless as, well, anyone else considered him. He had liked it that way. He hadn't needed companionship, kindness, or love.  
  
Yet, now he found himself collapsed in the arms of a Wood Elf. It was disgustingly pitiful, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. Had he struggled, sat up, moved away . . . he was sure she would not stop him. He didn't do any of these things. He didn't have the strength. He had used up all his strength hiding his emotions, hiding himself, from the woman whose arms he now occupied.  
  
He didn't understand this feeling at all. He had simply never felt it. His father was ashamed of him, and beat him. His mother just ignored him. He had been a mistake, and one that was not repeated . . . for he had no siblings. There was nobody among his peers he had felt this way about . . . most of them hated him as much as he ended up hating them. This had been his entire world, up until less than twenty-four hours ago.  
  
This was how he assumed the world was run, until she came along. This Wood Elf . . . this, "Linalia" . . . why had she come into his life and broken all the rules? People were not supposed to love each other, whether they were human, elf, or otherwise. So why did she seem to care so deeply about him? Why did she care about someone who, to her, was practically a stranger? Why hadn't she killed him? He didn't have the answer  
  
Of course, an even more difficult question plagued him as well, and the answer was even farther from his grasp. Why hadn't he killed her? He had killed many of her kind in the past. He had done so without a moment's hesitation. What made her so special?  
  
Xeron thought back to those first few moments. He pictured the sword at her neck . . . that soft, delicate, fragile neck. He pictured her expression . . . eyes clenched shut, ready to accept that death had come for her.  
  
What had made him stop? He tried to pinpoint a reason, in his mind. Her beauty . . . that was one thing that stuck out in his mind. She was amazingly gorgeous; he had noticed that right from the start. Those amazing, emerald eyes . . . that perfect, golden, flowing hair which now surrounded him. Everything about her held a quality of softness, beauty, and innocence. No, she was not helpless . . . she had at first been a serious threat to his life. Despite all her power, though, there seemed to be that quality of innocence. It seemed an odd thing to pair one whose power could slaughter millions with something such as innocence.  
  
Was that what he desired? Yes, desire . . . that was a strong part of it. What exact quality about her made her so desirable, he was unsure . . . perhaps it was a combination of all of them. Whatever it was, it had moved his heart in a way it had never been moved before.  
  
Xeron made a decision, with that realization. He decided that he would not resist her any longer. Whatever she had in store for him, there was no way of escaping it, anyway. So why not embrace it? It seemed the only way of getting through this without fighting . . . and he was so tired of fighting.  
Now, he realized, he had to voice this to Linalia. It would not be easy. He did not want to let his emotions all out at once in a flood of tears. He still had his pride. He needed to tell her, though, that now he was willing.  
  
Rising from her grasp, he looked into her eyes. Choosing his words carefully, he spoke.  
  
"You've . . . caught my interest, elf," he told her. "I don't know why you have this power over me, but I'm willing to admit it is there. What you do from here is up to you. I won't resist any more."  
  
There . . . the words were said. For better or worse, he had started down this path, wherever it would lead him. There was no turning back now. 


End file.
